


Vamo Alla Flamenco

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 11:36:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14080065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: Clarke moves to Lindblum hoping to make her living as an artist, and it's pure chance that she ends up living with Bellamy Blake, who's trying to make his own living as an actor. It's a good fit, and even if Bellamy gets his break before she gets hers, she's happy for him, obviously. That's how friends are.





	Vamo Alla Flamenco

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on a throwaway scene in Final Fantasy IX, and therefore takes place in the universe of Final Fantasy IX, because I am (as always) kind of lazy. [Here](http://finalfantasy.wikia.com/wiki/Moogle_\(race\)) is more information than you could ever need about moogles.

Clarke moves in with Bellamy Blake because she likes his handwriting.

That’s not the only factor, of course. The amount he’s charging for the room is reasonable, and the location is good. But there are plenty of postings with equally decent rents and neighborhoods, and she needs some way to choose. So she looks over the postings themselves, trying to see the people behind the letters, to understand the art of penmanship.

And she likes his writing best. He has a firm, somewhat cramped style, and he favors capitals, which she finds somehow appealing. It doesn’t feel like screaming; it just reads as if he’s confident in his words.

She pays for her lunch, takes the advertisement, and makes her way to his home in the theater district.

Clarke has been living in Lindblum for three days, staying in the tavern and doing odd jobs while she waited for the message board to be refreshed with new postings. When she came down this morning, it was full, and she has prospects for a few painting jobs as well as the lodgings.

She’s going to be fine. Really, she is. 

Bellamy Blake’s house is as well located as he said it was, close to the air cab as well as the theaters. It’s a little smaller than she expected, tucked in between two larger places, but it looks nice. Cozy.

She doesn’t have any real expectations for Bellamy himself; she’s not even sure he’ll be male, that’s just her guess. But it is a man who opens the door, a human one, a few inches taller than she is with messy black hair and a smattering of freckles. He frowns, and she notices a small scar on his lip, the kind of detail that would give so much character to a portrait of him.

“I’m here about the room?” she offers, before she can get too distracted, and his face clears.

“Wow, word travels fast.”

“I’ve been staying at the tavern. Trust me, I’ve been looking every day.”

He raises his eyebrows. “I didn’t think the tavern was that bad.”

“Not bad, just expensive. I can’t afford to stay very many nights.”

This seems to make sense to him. “Well, this is definitely cheaper, but you’re getting what you pay for. The room's not that large, but it is furnished. I don't mind coordinating on cooking and chores, but you'd need to contribute to that."

Clarke nods. "That's fine. I don’t need much space. Just enough for an easel.”

“Easel?”

“I’m—I want to be an artist,” she corrects. She can’t really call herself one until she’s getting paid for it.

“That should be fine,” he says. “But you can come and check. Honestly, I don’t know how large easels are.”

He points out the kitchen and the living room as they pass them. They’re small but bright and clean, the kind of space she could easily imagine herself occupying, empty enough she can see how she’d fit in. Upstairs, they pass his room and a privy, and then he shows her the small gable room she’d be getting, already equipped with a bed and bookshelves, full of light.

“This is it,” Bellamy says, without much enthusiasm. “It’s yours if you want it.”

“Just like that?”

“What else is there supposed to be? I have a room, you want a room. I guess I could check some references, if you have them, but you’re new in town, right?”

She smiles, imagining telling him that her mother can vouch for her. Abby would, of course, but it’s better if she doesn’t have to. “Yeah.”

“So, if you’re a bad tenant, I’ll kick you out,” he says, with a shrug. “Deal?”

The room is large enough, Bellamy seems friendly, and she likes the place. It’s not much to go on, but it’s as much as she can expect to get anywhere. It’s just a room; if she doesn’t like it, she’ll leave, or he’ll kick her out, like he said.

She shakes his hand. “Deal.” 

*

"How do you become an artist, anyway?"

The question is a valid one, but after two weeks of living at Bellamy's house, Clarke isn't convinced she's that much closer to having an answer. She's been painting, but the line between _person who does art_ and _artist_ is nebulous at best. It has to do with renown and financial stability, she thinks, and she's still trying to figure out how to get either.

"Start small and try to get bigger," she says, mostly because it sounds true.

"So, same as acting."

In the time she's been living here, she's found out more about him too. This is the house he grew up in, and the room he's renting to her used to belong to his sister, who signed on to an airship crew last month, after she got tired of making her money doing odd jobs around the city like her brother. It's obvious he's not thrilled about it, but Clarke doesn't feel as if they know each other well enough to press him on the subject. Just because she's living in his sister's old room, it doesn't make them friends. 

"I don't know much about acting."

He shrugs. "You do it until you make it or you decide it's not worth it. And until you make it, you never feel like you can say--" He waves his hand vaguely. "If you say you're an actor, everyone expects you to be a big one. If you're not Lady Trent or Gilles of Darin, you're a letdown. But if you were Lady Trent or Gilles of Darin, you wouldn't have to tell them."

He's at the stove cooking, so he can't see her smile. Bellamy's acting career is an afterthought, from what she can tell; the theaters down the street were the easiest place for him to get work, and he started as early as he could. He's done everything there is to do, from passing out programs to designing sets, but being an actor is his favorite. She can't tell how much is liking it and how much is just that it pays the best, but she's hoping to get to see him in something soon. If she's honest, she can't quite picture Bellamy pretending to be someone else. He seems so completely sure of who he is.

"Yeah, it's something like that. Everyone's heard of the great masters of painting, but no one knows working artists." She sighs. "I've got some landscapes to sell, as far as I know that's how you get started. But people have to want to buy them."

"And they do," he says, surprising her. "You're paying your rent somehow, I assume that's how."

"Not entirely. I still have my savings to help."

He puts a plate in front of her, flashes her a smile. "Well, I hope they do. Because I have to find someone new to take the room if you can't pay your rent, and that would be a pain."

Even after only two weeks, Clarke's dubious about that. Bellamy seems like he's got a pretty soft heart under the gruff exterior. He'd have trouble kicking her out, she's pretty sure. He'd let it go for a while, if she couldn't pay.

But that wouldn't be fair to him; her mother will send money if she needs it. She's not going to make Bellamy subsidize her lack of success, not when Abby will do it instead. And it's nothing they need to discuss right now, anyway. She might not need anyone's help; she might really make it on her own.

"I wouldn't want to put you through that," she teases. "I'd better just be a successful artist."

He snorts. "You better, yeah."

*

Success may not come quickly, but Clarke can content herself that stability does. While she may not be a world-famous artist--or even a kingdom-famous artist--she's making enough to pay for her room, and to split the cost of groceries and other necessities with Bellamy. When letters from her mother come, she can tell Abby is always expecting that this won't be enough for her, that this small measure of prosperity will be too frustrating, that she'll come home, but Clarke can't even imagine it. It's not how she thought independence would be, but it's not bad. She's making friends, and she's making a name for herself.

It's the realistic version of being an artist. The first step.

She doesn't realize how much having Bellamy on the same road helps at first, probably because it feels like such a selfish thing to be thinking. If anyone asked, she'd have said she wanted him to be an actor as much as she wanted herself to be an artist, and there's a part of her that does. 

But there's another part of her that likes that he's at the same level she is, and she doesn't quite realize it until he pulls ahead.

She finds out when she comes home from an afternoon of selling her works in the business district. It had been a good one, by her standards--two paintings sold, and a man willing to pay her commission price for a portrait of his dog--and she's in good spirits, coin jingling in her purse.

Bellamy has a bottle of wine, which is the first sign it's been a good day for him too. They tend to only buy wine on Saturdays, and this is a _nice_ bottle.

"New job?"

"I got the lead," he says, and she blinks. "Not in a very good play," he adds quickly. "Not Lord Avon or anything. But--"

"But the lead," says Clarke, grinning. "That's amazing, congratulations. I was commissioned to do a dog portrait."

"That's probably decent work if you can get a reputation for it," he muses. "Good pet artists are hard to find."

"Which I'm sure you know, from all the pet art you've commissioned."

He smirks over his shoulder. "See if I ever try to make you feel better again. Open up that wine, will you?"

It's a nice night, and her happiness for him is uncomplicated, easy. Bellamy's not the first friend she's ever had, but he's the first one she feels as if she's earned. Most of her friendships came about because she lived close to people, but she and Bellamy are adults, and they aren't desperate for companionship. He has plenty of friends of his own, and she didn't expect anything, when she moved in. They didn't need to be friends, but they are. Of course she's happy for him. 

It's just that suddenly, everyone else is too.

At first, it’s the rest of the cast, whom Clarke meets fairly quickly. Bellamy is the kind of guy who looks out for his people, and whenever he has a role, he gets Clarke a little work too, working on sets or advertisements. It’s easy to see, as she paints backdrops, how much everyone likes Bellamy, how he feels like the bright center of everything.

It’s not, as he said, a particularly prestigious project. It’s a goofy, crowd-pleasing show, aimed at families, but Bellamy is as good as he’s always been, effortlessly charming and game for anything, and it’s as if she can see him becoming a star in front of her eyes.

When she tells him as much, he ducks his head, snorting out a dismissive laugh. “Yeah, it’s really not that big a deal. Not that I don’t appreciate your support, but—it’s just one role.”

“We’ll see,” she says. “This could be your dog portraits.”

“I should be so lucky.” He sobers, eyes turning serious as he looks at her. “That's going okay, right? I know I’ve been busy, I haven’t been—“

“It’s fine. You worry about me enough,” she adds, when he still looks concerned. “You don’t have to stress yourself out about neglecting me too.”

“I know I’m busier than usual.”

“Becoming a big star,” she teases.

“I don’t know why I bother trying to talk you through shit,” he says, but he looks pleased.

“There’s nothing to talk me through. I’m good. Not rocketing to fame like you, but—“

“You’re really overselling this. It’s just one part.”

“I know what I saw,” she says. “You’re going to be big.”

“Thanks. Can’t wait for you to paint my portrait.”

"I've always wondered what you'd look like as a dog."

"Yeah, me too." He shakes his head, smile wry. "It's nothing, seriously."

"Sure it's not," she says. "Just wait, Bellamy. You're going to be big."

*

She finds out before he does, just how popular he is. She's there opening night, of course, and she can feel the audience's enjoyment, but it's not until two days later that it really hits. She's in the market doing quick sketches and selling paintings, and she hears a couple women, her age or maybe a little younger, gossiping.

"Is he really that handsome?" the first asks. "I saw the posters for the play, but it looked a little--"

"My little brother wanted to see it, and it's nothing special, but he _is_ that handsome. I thought I was going to swoon when he first came out. I think I've seen him before, but he was always in the background. I didn't know he was so good!"

It doesn't have to be Bellamy, obviously, but it _sounds_ like Bellamy. _Handsome_ isn't the first word she'd pick to describe him, probably, but he is, and he's certainly good.

Casual conversation has never been Clarke's strongest suite, but the girls are looking at some of her sketches, so it's doesn't seem rude to just ask, "What play are you talking about?"

Both of them giggle, as if they've been caught out, and Clarke makes her expression easy and friendly. 

"I live in the theater district," she adds. "So I like to hear if there's anything worth seeing."

"Well, it's kind of--the play's nothing special, but the leading man--"

"She says Bellamy Blake is going places," says the first woman, the one who hasn’t seen it.

It doesn’t take effort to smile now. “I did see that one. He’s amazing.”

“I wonder if he has a fan club yet,” the second woman muses. “We should join.”

“You should start it if he doesn’t,” her friend teases.

“You should,” says Clarke. “I'd join. You're right, he's going places."

“He’s too good not to. I wonder if I can get his autograph. I’m taking her tonight, so she can see him for herself,” the woman adds, to Clarke.

Her friend gives her an indulgent smile. “If he’s as handsome as you say he is, I’ll happily join your fan club.”

Clarke isn’t sure why her smile flags a little, why she feels herself wilting, ever so slightly. She wants this for Bellamy, wants him to do well, to become one of those actors everyone knows. She’s rooting for him.

It’s a good thing.

When she gets home, he’s already at the theater, and she makes dinner alone, leaving leftovers for Bellamy on the stove. It's their standard practice when he's in a show, but it feels lonelier tonight.

Which is ridiculous, of course. Nothing's changed, just because she was right. If anything, she should be thrilled. She was right, Bellamy was wrong.

But she's jealous. It's inescapable.

"Fuck," she mutters, and goes to see if anyone she knows is at the tavern. Drinking with Raven, Monty, and Emori improves her mood, and she gets home around the same time Bellamy does, feeling much better about her life. Wine really does make everything better.

Bellamy smiles. "Special occasion?"

"Bored. How was the show?"

"Same as always. Bigger crowd," he adds, sounding kind of confused. "We sold a lot of tickets today."

Clarke grins and bumps his shoulder. "You're popular." He rolls his eyes, but she has proof. "I met a girl today who wanted to found your fan club."

"You did not."

"I did! In the market. She and her friend were going back tonight to try to get autographs."

"There was kind of a crowd after, I just ignored them."

"You should talk to them next time. You have an adoring public."

"I have two people you met in the market."

"That we know of. You just don't want to admit I'm right and you're making it big."

"I don't want to get ahead of myself. It's just one show, Clarke. It'll be closed in a couple weeks, and everyone will forget about me."

"I'm still joining your fan club."

He wraps his arm around her and gives her a quick squeeze. "You are my fan club. Is there any food left?"

Until the show's first extension, Clarke lets it go, even as Bellamy's star is clearly rising. He gets home later and later, stopped by fans demanding autographs, wanting to talk to him and tell him how much they like him. 

At the first extension, she buys him a bottle of wine, and he buys her one for the second. The third time, it's not extended for a week, but indefinitely, with Bellamy contracted for a full six months. 

He buys a case of wine for that one, and looks as if someone slapped him in the face.

"Is now when I get to say I told you so?" Clarke asks, and he shakes his head, as if he's waking up from a deep sleep.

Then he smiles, and she can see why his fanclub is growing every day. "Yeah," he says. "This is it."

*

"What I don't get," Bellamy says, stretched out on his back on the couch with one arm over his face while Clarke works on a sketch, "is how people keep coming _back_. It's a shitty play."

"It's almost like they like you."

"If they really liked me, they'd stop coming to this show so I could get a better job."

Clarke bites her lip on her smile. "Already regretting it?"

"Eight shows a week for six months. I'm not even going to want to be an actor after this." 

"Have you ever considered you don't know how to be happy?"

"Do you?" he shoots back, and she makes a rude gesture.

"I don't have as much to be happy about."

"That must be it. We can probably get a new place soon, how’s that?”

She feels her shoulders tense. "We?"

"I'm not going to kick you out if I move somewhere nicer," he says, pushing himself up off the couch to look at her. "You don't want a little more room? You could get a bigger easel maybe, maybe. Have some more space."

"Pay more rent."

He rubs the back of his neck. "You don't have to. I wouldn't be moving if I couldn't afford somewhere better."

The guilt roils in her stomach, rises hot to the back of her throat. "If I wanted to live somewhere I wasn't paying my own way, I'd just move back to Treno with my mother,” she snaps.

The statement is surprising enough that the argument doesn't escalate. Instead, Bellamy pauses, eyes narrowing, suspicious. It's not as if everyone who lives in Treno is wealthy; the nobles there have employees and servants, and the stores have staff. But if her mother was a noble's servant, she wouldn't have said that.

There must have been other tells too, because she can see Bellamy putting pieces together, things that must have bothered him before and he filed away. Later, she'll have to ask what gave her away.

"So, I shouldn't be worrying about you not making your rent," he finally says.

"I would have made sure to pay you no matter what, yes."

He nods, once. "If it makes you feel better, I already don't need the money. It's always been a bonus."

It's her turn to pause. "No?"

"I don't like living alone," he admits. "I always had people around, and once O left--" He shrugs, looking uncomfortable. "I tried it for a month, but the house felt way too big. And that's _this_ house. I don't mind having the extra money, but I was looking for company."

"And what you want now is a bigger place," she asks, smiling a little.

"Bigger, not gigantic. And I wouldn't mind getting a little farther from the theater."

Her smile grows. "Fans following you home?"

"Not yet, but it's coming." He clears his throat. "I can go without you, obviously. But I'm not trying to give you charity or anything. I like living with you, and I want you to come with me. I don't need to charge you more rent."

"I should be able to pay more," she admits, soft. "I should be doing better."

"You'll catch up." Bellamy puts his arm around her, gives her a squeeze. "Not everyone can star in _Moogle Wannabe 2_."

"Not everyone wants to," she shoots back, but it does make her feel better. As frustrating as it is to not find the success she was looking for, it's nice to know Bellamy gets it. That he hasn't just been missing what's going on in her life.

"Fuck, even I don't want to."

"You do. You just don't want anyone to know it's you."

"I did get recognized on my way to see you the other day. I had to hide in the weapon shop so they wouldn't find me. There's no way I could trust a new roommate now," he adds, and she rolls her eyes. "So you have to keep living with me."

"I like living with you. But only one of us is actually making more money now."

"I know." He squeezes her again. It's nice, just sitting next to him, feeling warm and close. Maybe if they get a new place, they'll see more of each other. She knows he's been hanging out longer at the theater just to avoid the increasingly aggressive crowds, and if they have a new place, father away and more private, that might help. "I'll charge you more rent as soon as you can afford it."

"That's all I ask."

*

Two weeks after they move into their new place, a nice mid-sized house a little farther away from the commercial part of the theater district, Clarke gets an actual, honest-to-goodness _job_ , one that will pay her some and might lead to more work. It might not be her big break--even if it is, she won't know for a while--but it's definitely a step in the right direction, even if it's not exactly fine art.

"It's a dump," is Bellamy's take on it.

"You're a dump," she says, absent.

"Solid burn." He makes a face. "Seriously, though, you're going to have to do a lot of work to make this place into somewhere someone can live. And not just paint work."

"I can do that."

"It just--is that what you want?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," he says, rearranging his face into something like a smile. "If you're happy--"

"I'm working, the same as you. Neither of us are doing high art, but we're getting by. That's the important thing, right?"

"Maybe."

She pushes her hair away from her face to scowl at him. He's scoping out the place to see if it's somewhere he can hide when he doesn't want to be at the theater, and that would be nice, assuming he isn't weird about it.

"If you have something to say, you should say it."

"You're making shitty money don't work you don't even like. You can do better." It doesn't make any sense to her until he adds, "I know my job isn't amazing, but the pay is good. I could find you something too."

"Find me something," she repeats.

"Probably even something good."

"I have something."

His jaw works for a second, but he only shakes his head, looking away. "Yeah, I know. But if this ever--if you want something else, tell me."

She doesn't want to bristle; he's trying to help, and she appreciates it, really. This is how he _is_. He's looking out for her, like he looks out for everyone.

"I'm fine," she says. "I have a mural to paint."

"It looks really good," he says.

"Not that convincing right this minute."

"It's never been that you're not good. You're amazing, Clarke. You don't get the work you deserve."

That improves her mood. "Neither do you. But we're both working right now, so it could be worse."

He huffs a laugh. "Yeah, I guess it could be."

*

Within a few weeks, he’s grateful for her new job, once his fans become even more intense. She’s taken to waiting for him at the work site, doing the renovations she needs to do and setting aside heavy things she needs help lifting. While he helps with those, he tells her about how the show went, and she shows him what she's gotten done, and they go home together. It's not a bad routine, and she feels less lonely than she had before. Now she has her own life too, outside of her room.

When he comes in wearing a moogle costume, though, that's surprising. She doesn't even recognize him at first.

"If you're not Bellamy--"

He pulls the head off off the costume and gives her a sheepish smile. Clarke recognizes it from the theater, but he's not usually the one wearing it, and it's really kind of adorable. Pink isn't his best color, but the suit is covered in soft fur and his hair is a total mess. He looks as if he's coming from being the main attraction at a child's birthday party, not the lead of a successful play.

She smiles back without even thinking about it.

"The crowd was so big I didn't know how I'd get out," he admits. "I did autographs for as long as I could, but--I'm tired and I didn't want to leave you waiting."

"I didn't even realize it was late."

He rolls his eyes, smiling. "That's the other reason. I knew you'd stay here all night if I didn't come get you."

"I would have gotten hungry." She grins. "You had to hide from your own fans."

"It was probably a fluke."

Usually, she'd let it go, but he's currently stripping out of a moogle outfit, which is several steps beyond his usual level of ridiculousness. It's worth commenting on.

"At what point are you going to admit this is a big deal?"

He tries to get his hair in order without much success. "Which part?"

"You're a star."

For a second, she thinks he's going to disagree, but he thinks better of it. "I am," he admits. "For now. But I'm a craze. I might last, but--not like this."

It's her turn to think things over. "What is success for you, anyway? If it's not this."

"This, but it lasts," he says, and immediately rethinks it. "No, not this, not really. I want to know if once this is over, I'll keep having jobs, or if this ruins it because serious actors don't do--whatever I'm doing."

"Is that why you're worrying about me?" she asks. "You think I'm going to--honestly, I don't know what you're worried about, but something like that?"

"I don't want you to end up stuck doing something that doesn't make you happy and just gets you more work that you won't like. I'm already doing that, you don't need to be doing it too."

"I do, actually. I can't make a name for myself doing nothing."

He rubs his face. "I know. But you don't have to make a name for yourself doing this, if you don't want to. I won't kick you out."

"I know." She makes herself smile. "We're both doing it on our own. Just because you're a few steps ahead--"

"I don't know about ahead," he grumbles. "I had to run away from work in a moogle costume today."

"Because people love you so much."

"Still."

"This is just the start for you, Bellamy," she says. "I'm sure of that."

"Thanks. You too."

"You could try to have fun with it, you know," she adds, smirking.

"You try having fun when a mob is running after you trying to rip off pieces of your clothing," he grumbles, and she squeezes his shoulder.

"It's hard being popular."

"Yeah. Thanks for noticing." He shakes his shoulders out. "So, what do you need from me?"

They move some furniture around and then get ready to leave, and it's not until Bellamy is gathering up the moogle costume that he admits, soft, "I don't want this to be all anything remembers me for. I'd rather not be remembered at all."

That side of it hadn't really occurred to her, not that clearly, and her heart twists up with guilt. She's been resenting his success, and he's not even enjoying it.

"It's not going to just be this," she says. "There's no way. You're too good."

"This really isn't about being good. It's about being handsome."

"You can be good _and_ handsome. Don't worry, you've got years of running away from fans ahead of you, for all kinds of roles."

He laughs. "Thanks."

"And I'll always have a place for you to hide."

"Yeah," he says. "I know you will."

*

The thing is, Clarke likes taking care of people too, and Bellamy is pretty much her favorite person. And she did think he was happy and just bad at it, but apparently he's still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Which she should have seen coming, but she'll admit that her own resentment was causing some issues. She thought Bellamy was just being modest, but he doesn't know how to stop worrying.

So it's her job to help him out.

"I'm thinking you need official merch."

Bellamy raises his eyebrows. It's his day off, and they're spending the afternoon in the house, doing absolutely nothing. Bellamy hasn't even bothered getting dressed fully.

These are her favorite days.

"I need what now?"

"Official merchandise. For your fan club. I could do some portraits, we could print them as posters--"

"You want to make me posters?"

"I think you've got good things coming, but in case you don't, we might as well capitalize on this as much as possible, right? And if you prove yourself to be a bankable star, you'll get more roles. It might not be for the reason you want, but once you're everywhere, you can show that you're good."

"So, build the hype and then live up to it."

"You think you can't?"

He smirks. "I think I can handle it. You really want to do this? You'd have to draw a lot of pictures of me."

"You're a good subject." She holds up the sketch she's been working on, bare bones, but with enough detail that it's obvious where she's going. "What do you think?"

"It looks like me. Do you really think anyone would buy it?"

"Can we agree that I've predicted how your career is going to go a lot better than you have lately?"

He pauses, about to argue, and then shakes his head. "You know what, I can agree to that. You have a much better understanding of my fanbase than I do. If you think they want my face on a poster, just tell me what I have to do and I'll do it. Do you need me to pose?"

"At this point I think I could draw you with my eyes closed."

It doesn't seem like a very noteworthy statement, but Bellamy's expression softens in a way that suggests he thinks this is special. And maybe it is; Clarke finds herself doodling him more than she does most people. He has a good face for it.

"So you're saying I should just let you make whatever merch you want for me?"

"And get the theater to sell them and give us some of the profits."

"I can probably do that. You don't want to sell them yourself?"

"If I'm at the theater, you won't have anywhere to hide once you get away from your fans. I need to keep renovating old buildings. They're going to start noticing the moogle leaving soon."

"Thanks, that's not terrifying at all."

"We'll figure out something new, when you need it."

"That's a lot better." He smiles, and there's no doubt in her mind at all that he's going to be a star. There's no way he won't be, not with a smile like that. "You don't have to do this."

"Do what? Use your career to make money?"

"Worry about me."

"You don't have to worry about me either, but you still do. It's kind of our thing."

"Art, theater, and unnecessary fretting," he agrees. "That's us. I want to see the posters before you start selling them."

"Deal," she says, and wonders why it doesn't actually make her feel better.

*

"I should be happy, right?" she asks Raven, a week later, when the anxious feeling in her stomach _still_ hasn't passed. "Everything's good. Stuff is going really well. I shouldn't be--I'm an asshole."

"Probably, yeah," says Raven, merciless. "But give me some more information here and I can give you feedback on how to be less of an asshole. What are you not happy about?"

"Bellamy."

To her surprise, this seems to make Raven feel better. "Oh, are we finally talking about that? Awesome."

"I know I'm--it's stupid. I'm not jealous of how well he's doing or anything, but sometimes I feel like--"

Raven holds up her hand. "Wait, what do you think this conversation is about?"

It takes her a second to find the words to explain, and even when she does, they don't feel _right_. "Bellamy's successful and I'm not, and he's trying to take care of me and that just makes it worse."

"You think that's your issue?"

Clarke can feel a headache growing between her temples. She knew getting drunk and complaining to Raven about her emotional state was a bad idea, but she hadn't expected it to be this kind of bad idea. "I know it's my issue. I'm an asshole who should just be happy--"

"You definitely should. Look, maybe you're jealous, I don't know. But I figured this was finally the _I'm into Bellamy and don't know what to do_ conversation. If it's that, you should definitely just make a move. And if it's not that--" She pauses. "Honestly, if you think it's not that, it's probably still that."

"It's not," she insists, but even she can admit it's mostly out of stubbornness.

"You sure?"

Her impulse is to double down, but now that Raven's asked, Clarke can't help thinking about it. Of course she likes Bellamy--he's her best friend. And of course he's--well, he's the kind of person it's easy to be attracted to. It's why he's so popular, because everyone is in love with him. And he deserves it, of course. It's going to last, because Bellamy _is_ that great. Everyone knows.

So of course, Clarke knows too. But just because she understands the appeal of Bellamy doesn't mean she _feels_ it. Because that would be stupid, obviously. Bellamy's going places, and Clarke is--

Clarke is staying with him, if he has anything to say about it. He's made that clear. And she wants to stay with him too. But she knows how many other options he has, how beloved he is, and he's just going to get more and more popular. It's not a kind of renown artists tend to get, and even if she gets successful, it won't be like he does.

"It's not _just_ that," she says, before she's fully worked through the rest of her thoughts.

"You're not really convincing me you know what's happening here."

She rubs her face. "I don't. I just feel like whatever it is, I'm doing it wrong."

"Yeah, definitely. Look, however you're feeling? You should be talking to him instead of me. You guys are good with this stuff. Once you actually start talking about it."

"You just want me to tell him I'm--" She makes a face. "Jealous?"

"That's what you told me, why wouldn't you tell him?"

The answer is, of course, that it's more embarrassing to tell Bellamy than Raven, and it was bad enough telling Raven. And she feels _bad_ , being jealous. Raven was supposed to talk her out of that, but all she did was reframe the question to make it _worse_.

Overall, it's not Clarke's best night. And then the bells toll for ten o'clock, right on cue.

"Fuck, I have to go meet him soon," she says, putting her head down on the bar.

"Just talk to him," Raven says. "I promise this is gonna be fine."

Bellamy's show will be ending in about twenty minutes, but he won't make it to her for a while. Still, she's ready to leave, to be outside and breathing fresh air again. She pays her tab and takes the air cab back to the theater district. Her project site is dark and empty, and she finds herself walking past it, to the actual playhouses. There’s already a crowd waiting for Bellamy at the stage door, a great throng of women and men anxious just to see him.

It hadn’t surprised her, when she realized how popular he was. It felt inevitable. He might not be a star that lasts, but he’s going to get to do more than this. He’s going to be fine. 

But there is some part of her that thinks, someday soon, he won't be _hers_ anymore.

She sticks to the back of the crowd, not even trying to fight through the throng to get to the stage door. It’s not as if she wants an autograph or anything; she’s just curious. She’s been avoiding experiencing this, but it feels like she should know what he's going through.

Another woman in the crowd gives her a smile. “It’s not worth trying to get up there, is it?”

“It doesn’t look like it,” says Clarke.

“He’s pretty good about trying to make his way to the back when he can. He always tries to see as many people as he can."

“Do you come a lot?”

She shrugs. “I live around here, it’s not hard. I know it’s a little silly, but it’s fun. Just cover your ears.”

Clarke frowns, but when the woman does it herself , Clarke follows suit, and a roar goes up from the crowd a second later.

Through the throng, she can see Bellamy, smiling and waving. From this distance and in the dark, she can't make out the details of him, but she can see that he's showing off his co-stars, trying to share the attention as best he can, but the crowd isn't having any of it. The others sign a couple autographs and get to go, but Bellamy stays, doing his best to get through as many people as possible.

"He's going to be huge," says the woman next to Clarke, and Clarke's heart aches.

"He is." She makes a show of looking around. "I'm actually waiting for a friend of mine who's in the company, I need to go see if I can find her."

"Have you met him? Your friend must know him."

She considers for a moment, and settles on, "No, but she says he's great."

Free of the crowd, Clarke leans against a neighboring building, watching as Bellamy finishes up, waves to the crowd, and heads back inside. She knows the next steps from what he's told her: he and a couple other people leave at the same time, and no one ever seems to suspect that he's one of the ones in costume. This time is no exception; he comes out with another moogle, a chocobo, and some tech staff, and none of the fans even blink at them.

There has to be an easier way to do all this, but it's sweet that they're all willing to help him out.

He's the only one leaving by this route, and he stops when he sees her. In the costume, she can't see his expression, but the surprise is obvious.

"I finished up with Raven early, I thought I'd come check out the crowd."

"And?"

She smiles. "You're so popular."

"I know."

"You're good at it, too. Very charismatic."

"Thanks."

"You don't like it?"

She hears his huff of breath, even with his face covered. "What's to like?"

"Money? Adoration? I thought you liked being the center of attention."

"It was cool at first. I liked being popular. But yeah, it's gotten old."

"And it hasn't even been a year."

"I keep expecting them to lose interest, but we need a next big thing first."

She hesitates, but it feels safe enough to say it now. "I was jealous, you know."

"You can have it. If I could give you my fan club, I would."

"That's not really what I was jealous of."

"You're probably going to be more successful than I am too. Or at least have more artistic integrity. I'm wearing a fucking moogle suit right now, there's nothing to be jealous of."

She smiles a little. "I thought with all those people around, you wouldn't need me."

It was stupid to start this when he's still wearing a mask; all she can hear is quiet, with no indication at all of what he might be thinking. He might have already figured it out.

"You're not even close to the same," he finally says. "I can't believe you were worried about that."

"I'm just a girl renting a room from you."

"You know you're not." 

"I know, but--it feels like that sometimes." She pauses when they get to the building she's been renovating. "Do we need to stop?"

"Do you need help with anything?"

"No," she admits. She just wants to see his face, but they can go home first. There's no rush.

But he says, "Might as well. This thing is really itchy."

"The hard life of a famous thespian." Her hands shake a little as she unlocks the door, but if he notices, he doesn't say anything. "I feel so bad for you."

"Not that famous."

Inside, he pulls off the costume's head, but he doesn't bother getting out of the rest of it, electing instead to stare at Clarke, like he's trying to see into her soul. If she were more sure of what he was thinking, she'd be able to arrange her face for him, but she has no idea. It could be anything.

"I thought you were just--I don't know. I thought it was some weird noble thing I didn't get. You were upset I was making more than you were or something. I had no fucking clue."

"I didn't really either. I kept trying to figure it out and nothing felt right. I just knew I was--I wanted something else."

"Yeah? Did you figure out what?"

She wets her lips, and his eyes dart to the movement, just for a second, just long enough, and she smiles.

"I want you to not hook up with anyone in your fan club."

"No one?" She cocks her head, and he steps in closer. " _You're_ in my fan club. Is that off the table?"

"No one else in your fan club," she corrects, and he leans in to kiss her, a relief and a release of tension, somehow, even though she hadn't realized until tonight how much she'd been wanting this. How much she'd been wondering about the feel of his lips, the texture of his skin, if she'd be able to taste the scar on his lip.

It's perfect, as good as she knew it would be, right up until she wraps her arms around his neck and feels the artificial roughness of fur.

"We're not doing this when you're dressed as a moogle," she says, pulling away, and he laughs.

"So, you're telling me I should take it off?" he teases. 

"You really should." She can't stop smiling. "I'll help."

*

"It's so much better than the last one!"

Clarke perks up, searching the marketplace for the young woman who's speaking. She can’t be sure she’s talking about Bellamy, but odds seem good. His new show opened last night, and it is a huge improvement. Bellamy gets to show some range, and he takes his shirt off at one point. Clarke’s a big fan.

She’s hoping everyone else will be too.

“I don’t have tickets until next week,” says a man, and Clarke finds them. “I can’t believe you got them opening night!”

“I stayed up all night,” says the woman, sounding proud. 

“I like him, but I like sleep more.”

The two of them come to Clarke’s stall, and the woman spots a drawing she did of Bellamy. She’s not the only artist to have drawings of actors up, and she’s careful not to make hers too accurate. She irons out his flaws, for the general public.

Those are hers.

“Oh my goodness!” says the woman. “This is gorgeous.”

“I had a good subject,” says Clarke. “You’re a fan?”

“The biggest!”

It’s not true, but Clarke lets her have it. “Have you seen the new show yet?”

“Opening night. It’s _amazing_. I cried! He’s so good. I knew he would be, if he just got the chance. I can't wait to see it again!"

The man snorts. "You can try, it's going to get so expensive."

"The fan club has tickets, they're doing a raffle for members. I could get some then! And it's going to get extended. It has to!"

The man smiles. "Well, get me another ticket with yours if it is. I'm sure I'm going to want to see it as many times as I can. How much for this one?" he adds, to Clarke, and she pulls her mind away from Bellamy to focus on business instead. She sells not only a painting of Bellamy, but a landscape as well, and the couple takes their leave with waves and farewells.

When she's done for the day, she packs up and heads back to the theater district. She's not doing renovations these days, making enough off of her own projects and Bellamy's merchandise, but she is renting a small studio near the theater.

She's not just doing it so he'll have somewhere to hide after his shows, but that was a factor.

He arrives just as she's finishing putting away her unsold paintings, unlocking the door and stepping inside.

"I think you like the moogle costume," she says. "Don't people think it's weird that you're wearing it?"

"I just tell them I'm a _Moogle Wannabe 2_ fanatic, they buy that. It's not like I'm the only person there who's a big Bellamy Blake fan."

She leans in to kiss him once he's gotten the head off. "Glad you're getting a reputation as a moogle fetishist. How was the show?"

"Good. Really good. I think I'm getting better. You should come see it again next week."

"You were good the first time. And your fans loved it."

He raises his eyebrows. "Were you actually talking to my fans, or is this just your intuition again?"

"My intuition is amazing. And I sold a portrait to a couple of fans today, I heard all about how great you are. I think this really might be it."

To her surprise, he pauses, seems to really be thinking it over. "Yeah, I think so."

"Really? You're just going to agree with me? You never agree with me."

"I agree with you plenty. And this one's easy. I'm going to keep getting roles, you're going to keep doing art. We're going to do better and worse, but this is where I want to be. This is definitely it."

Clarke smiles too. "Yeah. We made it."


End file.
